


Old Ents

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [41]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Fluff, M/M, Oldish writing, Return of my rarepair once more, Warning: really cheesy fluff, but only very briefly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 02:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18929755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: I wrote this, hmmm, almost 2 years ago, was absurdly embarrassed, and now at 3 in the morning I've suddenly decided that maybe I should just post it already.It's a batch of cheesy fluff, and that is all I will say on the matter.





	Old Ents

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this, hmmm, almost 2 years ago, was absurdly embarrassed, and now at 3 in the morning I've suddenly decided that maybe I should just post it already.
> 
> It's a batch of cheesy fluff, and that is all I will say on the matter.

“Missed me then, eh?”

There was no answer from the other man, but Woodie just sighed heavily and reached around to pat him on the back. He could feel the ever so slight tremble in Maxwell, narrow thin body pressed up against him, and Woodie noted quietly how tightly the man was holding onto him, arms wrapped around in a hug and face buried against his shoulder, the height difference between them not much but enough with Woodies broad shouldered stance. 

Tail end of a long winter, and here he had been wondering if he'd be meeting up with anyone at some point.

 _What's he been up to, then?_ Lucy whistled to herself, a soft mumble of sound before continuing. _Haven't seen anyone else around lately, and yet we meet up with him first?_

Woodie ignored her questions, Lucy swaddled safely in the pack on his back, and instead, after another moment of feeling Maxwell shiver against him, whether from cold or otherwise, the lumberjack circled his other arm around and wrapped the thinner, stiffer man into a bear hug, held him close with what was hopefully a firm comfort.

Maxwell stiffened immediately, as if he hadn't expected that, but then he tightened his grip and huffed a quiet sound, accepting the hug fully and practically melting in Woodies arms.

“What’ve you been up to, you old hoser?” Woodie laughed, quiet like as the man's hands tightened into his shirt, bunched up the fabric while still hiding his face. “Haven't seen you in awhile, not since those hounds. You holding out well?”

Maxwell was silent for a moment, quiet, before he mumbled against Woodies shoulder, pulling his arms away and leaning back ever so slightly, hands trailing over the lumberjacks chest in idle movement.

“Well enough, I suppose. Or, as well as one could be, when throwing one's lot in with a bunch of fools.”

The man didn't look at him, seemed rather preoccupied with looking anywhere but at his face, hands stilling on Woodies chest as his face seemed to fall into a distracted scowl. Woodie himself frowned, raising his hands to rest on the man's shoulders instead.

“Shouldn't be calling those who help names. I'm sure they are doing their best.”

Maxwell huffed irritably, seemed on the verge of telling him something, nervous, before visibly giving up on that. His knobby hands tightened on Woodies clothing, reminiscent of something else, before the man leaned forward against him and laid his head against his chest.

There was something about this that left a nervous air about them, unspoken words Woodie could practically hear but not decipher, but he wasn't going to push for it. 

“Ain't you a little cold?” 

Woodie wrapped his arms around the man once more, hands climbing up to right in the middle of his spine, flat palmed and steady, feeling Maxwells stuttered nervous breaths evening out against him and the slight weight leaned forward onto him to bare. He slowly massaged his fingers into comforting circles, easing over a stiff, uptight backbone that he could feel even through worn clothing.

“You're gonna get sick, with nothing but that suit on you know. Springs coming, but it's still too cold for that wear.”

The older man mumbled something, not at all clearly spoken, and turned his head to bury his face against Woodies neck, the sudden intimacy so freely given stilling his hands for a moment.

Mayhaps he shouldn't be touching the man so indiscriminately, but Maxwell had been the one to practically throw him off balance with the sudden hug. And he obviously wasn't pulling away, seemed to want to get closer even, and Woodie wouldn't deny the fact that, with death having taken that last lifetime away so terribly, it wasn't all that unsurprising to realize that maybe he had also missed the old fellow.

 _You're a sensitive man, Woodie._ Lucy hummed, a comforting weight on his back. _Not everyone can go ages and ages with only little ol’ me for company you know._

Woodie hummed in thought, his own answer to his axe, and he felt Maxwells grip on him tighten, cold nose pressed against his throat and shivering in his hold.

Maxwell mumbled, warm breath against Woodies neck, completely incomprehensible. Whatever it was that he was saying, it wasn't important enough for him to pull away and say clearly, though Woodie just chuckled quietly at that and let the man hug up on him for a little while longer.

Seeing him again was a rather nice surprise he had to admit, a soft, warm feeling smoothing over in his chest as Maxwell relaxed on him. Woodie was just fine admitting such things, the realization that the old git had been growing on him for awhile now, and the previous death had been a harrowing one that was for sure. 

Not being able to be there to help save someone was always distressing.

Woodie huffed quietly, laced with both lightness and the strain of memories, and he felt Maxwell shiver in his arms, a relaxed weight void of the tenseness that usually hung around the man like a cloud. It was a comfort, knowing the man was here now, knowing what had happened hadn't been an end.

Whatever this was, this affection he felt and ease of knowing Maxwell was with him now, it was not what he quite expected but Woodie was a flexible man, was good at learning how the world moved about him.

And it was very good, very nice to know that Maxwell didn't seem willing to forget all that, even now.

***

“Those are new, aren't they?”

Maxwell shot up in surprise, tripping on his own feet and almost dropping his book in the pond as he realized he wasn't alone. Woodie shook his head, a quirk of his crooked mouth and a light chuckle at the other man's reaction, minding the water's edge as a shallow breeze blew by, heavy with humidity and coming rain.

By the time he got over to the other man's side, mud sucking on his boots and wet grass stringing along as well, Maxwell had stuffed his book into the bag at his side and had already taken off the glasses, folded them and prepared to put them in one of his suit pockets.

When Woodie spoke he absentmindedly brushed off his suit, expression schooled into mild irritation that seemed to only be a thin veil over other frustrations.

“You don't have to hide them away you know, no one but me around.”

He wouldn't hold his gaze, scowling even more if that was possible, but Woodie held out his hand, genuinely curious.

“Can I see ‘em?”

Maxwell gave him a dark glare, still looking out of sorts, as if he still hadn't recovered from being so sneaked up upon. Woodie wasn't a naturally quiet man, but then again Maxwell seemed to not be as observant as one would think.

“I don't see why you should.”

Woodie sighed at that, but wasn't offended. He shrugged, pursing his lips and turning his gaze to the still pond, hints of shadows darting underneath a surface that reflected the grey clouds overhead rather clearly.

Not stagnant, probably fed by an underground stream, and with the afternoon sun the frogs were already hidden away for the colder night. Spring was strong underway, nights still cold from the past winter and rainfall even colder near the dark, but Woodie was rather cold tempered.

Moisture was more of the problem, but the temperature was familiar enough as it was, fair and even comforting in some ways.

Glancing over to Maxwell's still scowling face, the old man watching him with narrowed eyes, Woodie blew out a heavy breath of air through his crooked teeth. 

Half the time in spring the other man looked like a drowned rat, plastered suit sticking to his stick thin body and face damp, very, very grumpy, and the other half he looked stiff and uncomfortable in his very skin, moving slow and with a walled off expression. That was usually late spring, when summers heat was creeping in, and Woodie was not looking forward to that season.

The thick forests were his haven then, forests tempered enough to not catch fire from a little too much sun, and he'd spend his days chopping and hiking and making conversation with Lucy, who unfortunately had the difficulty of getting slippery wet in the spring. It wasn't a comforting thing, to leave her behind at times, but her slipping out of his hands as easily as she does was even worse, not to mention hurt her pride.

“But I suppose…” Maxwell fiddled with the glasses in his hands, looking at them with an odd look on his face, the scowl dropping. After a moment he held them out, still with a drawn look on his face, not quite meeting Woodies eye.

“Don't drop them.” Woodie carefully took them in hand, raised the glasses up to eye the cloudy lenses as Maxwell folded his arms irritably, looking away sharply. “I'd rather not waste my time cleaning filth off them.”

Metal wiring, frames round and thin, thick glass a little smudged and clouded, scratches criss crossing about, but otherwise no other damages or imperfections to be seen. Maxwell was watching him again, scowl set firmly on his face as he started to tap his foot nervously, just the bare hint of the movement before suddenly seeming to realize he was doing it and stilling stiffly. Woodie hummed thoughtfully, turned the glasses about in his calloused hands, before sidling up to the man.

Looking between Maxwells face and the glasses, brows furrowed in mock concentration, Woodie waited until just the moment the old man took a breath to speak before leaning ever so slightly forward and placing the glasses on his narrow face, pushing the lenses up Maxwells long nose.

Woodie chuckled at the surprised, slightly shocked look the man gave him, face already coloring as he stumbled on his words before looking away, almost automatically raising a hand to adjust his glasses without seeming to realize.

“Who would’a thought you wore glasses, eh?”

Maxwell didn't look at him, was instead glaring at the ponds reflective surface now, but he huffed out a sigh, shoulders hitching up nervously.

“I wear them for reading, nothing else.”

“Didn't look like you were reading earlier.”

He wasn't given an answer to that, but Woodie laid his hand on the old man's shoulder and let it go. Seeing one's reflection after ages in the wild did give food for thought, that was for sure.

Sometimes that food wasn't good for thought.

“You look good in them.”

Maxwell gave him a very heavy disbelieving look, enunciated when his glass slid down his long nose. 

Woodie couldn't help but chuckle at that, pretending to not notice the hint of color in the other man's narrow face nor the way he quickly looked away.

“I'm being serious, you look a little more-” Woodie waved his hand, searching for the correct word, “-dapper, wasn't it?”

The other man loosened up ever so slightly at that, just the bare hint as his shoulders untensed and face softened, pushing his glasses up. The hardened look on his face was practically nonexistent now, eyes not holding Woodies gaze but obviously thinking on what he said, hands drumming on his crossed arms.

Woodie stayed still as the man shifted, swaying in thought, a moment of hesitation before he leaned towards him, still not meeting his eye but nonetheless making a decision. It didn't take long for Maxwell to finally just shuffle his feet forward and to press up against him, hands a little more hesitant before wrapping around his middle, a firm grip in his rough worn shirt before nuzzling up against him.

The glasses were a new feeling, but Woodie didn't find them too much of a hassle to get used to, wrapping his own arms about the man in a loose hug, letting himself lean ever so slightly forward to counterbalance them.

“Perfect look for the dapper gentleman, eh?” Woodie said against him, feeling Maxwell relax in his grip, warm and usually stiff body leaning up against him, as bony and sharp as ever. Complete opposite to his own stocky build, and Woodie chuckled quietly at remembering how, once upon a time, the once a demon had actually been taller than him, unnaturally so in the ways that shadow distorted and changed.

And now here he was, just a few inches shorter than the lumberjack, and most certainly not nearly as filled out.

“I suppose…” Maxwell quietly sighed against him, holding onto him loosely as he laid his head against Woodies shoulder. “I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wear them more often then.”

Woodie laughed at that, loud and content, feeling the old man shiver against him, cold glasses pressed against his shoulder along with a far warmer face.

Well, a ponds reflection wasn't always right, now was it?

***

Gloved hands were clenched within his own, clasped together and slick with blood, and Woodie sucked in a tense breath of air, shoulders trembling ever so slightly as he fought off rising panic.

It wasn't strong enough to do away with his common sense, but hell if it sure did stretch him thin.

“You'll be fine, alright? Just a little longer.”

The man in front of him twitched at his words, face screwed up with pain, and Woodie glanced nervously at the amulet hanging from his neck, heavy ruby laid out on his chest and shining with a silent beat.

Had to have been spiders, too many of them maybe, or just a few warriors. Not too much of a hassle until it suddenly got chaotic, and Woodie knew Maxwell knew well enough about spiders, would know what to do when faced with them.

The man made them for gods sakes, he knew how to handle them too.

But miscalculations happen, and right now was one of them. It was hard to believe that the old man had even been able to drag himself this far, been able make noise at all with the damage already done.

And dark had been falling then too, Woodie switching on the lantern to wander out the confines of the fire to check the sounds, not at all even worried.

Up until being suddenly faced with the bloodied form of someone seconds away from the nights grasp.

Thank god he at least wasn't trying to talk anymore. Whatever had taken that chunk from his neck had done all too well a job, and Woodie felt ill at the sight of the injury. He could feel Maxwell shaking, not knowing if it was from pain or fear, but either way Woodie leaned forward, careful not to jostle the man too much as he let gloved hands go to favor a very careful hug, pulling the usually stiff man to his chest.

The amulet dug against him, warm and almost pulsing with its energy, and Maxwell felt fragile in his arms, weak, head lolling against his shoulder as the man coughed harshly against him, gasping in his own death throes.

Wound on the neck, too much blood to really see the extent of it all, ripping through suit clothing and bleeding profusely; maybe if he had the supplies Woodie would have tried fixing him up, nursing the old man to health.

Bad enough that he practically had nothing for camp, but medicinals had been on the bottom of the list for quite awhile. He hadn't been expecting this.

Gloved hands tightened on his shirt, Maxwell hissing and wheezing for air, and by now Woodie could feel the blood seeping into his clothes, feel both the steady pulse of the amulet and the jarring, stuttered pounding of the old man's heartbeat.

He's been keeping that amulet for emergencies, and thank god for that.

Maxwell leaned fully against him, only his arms holding strongly, everything else limp and bleeding terribly, and the only thing Woodie could do was quietly hush against him, careful not to move too much even as he screwed up his own eyes and tried to will away the image of someone he cares about having such a bloody mess as their neck and throat. 

He didn't want to be blunt, didn't like this at all, was just barely skirting it at this point, but the fact of the matter was-

Maxwell was dying.

Woodie swallowed thickly, holding the shaking man against him, the steady darkness surrounding them pitch and blank as ever. The lanterns light held strong, thankfully, and could last the night, but it offered no warmth, no relief from the sodden wet humidity around them.

The grass was still damp from the evening rain, and if it started up again Woodie had nothing to help cover the both of them. And he didn't want to move Maxwell anymore than he already had.

It had shaken him, trying to lift the collapsed, barely conscious man up just to hear a cut off cry of pain, almost a sob and a harsh gurgling from a torn throat and blood splattered into the grass. Almost took him out, how much was packed into that sound, that cry, and still his limbs felt like jelly and still his heart beat with unspent adrenaline, as if he could have fought off what was happening to Maxwell.

All he had was the amulet, nothing else. Nothing to help with the pain.

Well, if he hadn't left Lucy in camp, he would have had another option, but even just thinking of it sent his belly flipping and Woodie tried to not let it slink through his brain anymore.

He would have, if he had Lucy, unless she said no.

And he was fairly certain that, if she saw Maxwell, she would have begged Woodie to do it. Even without a body, even without a way to feel things like he could, Lucy couldn't stand the sight of pain.

“Just got to close your eyes for a few seconds, I’ll be right here…”

Maxwell shuddered in his arms, breathing harsh and stressed, slowing down as the man's grip on him slipped, falling away. Woodie took a deep breath, held it in, keeping the older man close, hoping he was conscious enough to know he wasn't alone, that he wasn't dying alone.

No one wanted to die alone, no one, and Woodie would be damned if he ever shrugged someone off in their last moments, no matter the fact that only a few moments later they'd be back up on their feet.

The amulet was warm against him, almost to the burning point, and the man in his arms shuddered in another breath, this time wheezed and so very slow, so very labored. Didn't feel like he had anymore strength left in him, and Woodie kept his eyes squeezed shut and held him close, blood soaking into his shirt as he waited.

Feeling the amulet start to work was just a split second thing, a sharp burn and bright feeling in the back of his mind.

Feeling someone suddenly die in his arms was a heavier, ingrained feeling, the sudden loss of anything but a body held against him, hands tightly gripping into fabric and only a corpse left.

Thankfully he didn't experience it for long, the amulets null wave slipping behind his eyes and loosening him up, sending him into quick, magic held unconsciousness.

 

No dreams, no nothing, until he suddenly was jolted awake and aware as the magic left, aura fizzling apart, leaving him with only a faint taste in the back of his throat. 

Woodie sat up, rubbed at his tired eyes, still a little foggy and buzzed from the amulets energy. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't where he had been before.

Straw roll under him, fire burning strongly in his fire pit, and Woodie noted the roughness of his elbows and scraped feeling of his back, his legs, almost bruised but not quite.

Must have been dragged back, what with the traces of mud and dirt on his clothes.

Across from the fire was the easing sight of Lucy, quiet and watchful, and he almost missed the way she seemed to be hinting to him, trying to direct his foggy focus.

Another moment passed before he recognized a back facing him, the man who had very recently just died staring into the fire, curled up with knees drawn to his chest and completely still.

Woodie picked himself up, stretching his arms and then made sure he wasn't for some reason grossly injured, found nothing before slowly going over to sit at Maxwells side. The old man had his shoulders hitched up, tense and stiff, and Woodie huffed out a tired sigh.

“You alright then, eh? Made me a little worried.”

Maxwell didn't answer for a moment, was staring hooded eyed into the flames, face drawn and exhausted looking, and Woodie furrowed his brow and tried to quell his own worries, his own fears. The exhaustion of that stress leaving him was heavy in his bones, his mind, and he discretely fought off a yawn.

Amulets can heal death, but not everything. The bags under the man's eyes were a sure sign, and so was how the old man rubbed at his wrists, almost without realizing it, before folding his arms sharply and hissing in a breath through clenched teeth.

“I hadn't thought you would have heard me.”

Woodie frowned, feeling unsaid words, unsaid statements, promises, but said nothing about them. It wasn't his place, though it did send a pang into his chest. The implications of not hearing Maxwell, not realizing he was dying right outside of Woodies camp, played through his mind for a moment, another terrible feeling as he glanced over at the mans face, before he pushed them away.

There were more important things to focus on than what ifs.

“You need’ta be more careful out there, you old hoser. You're not getting any younger, and spiders can-”

“I know!” That was a hiss, a drawn out sound as Maxwell glared at him for a moment, dark eye contact as Woodie blinked at him, before it was broken off and Maxwell seemed to curl in on himself even more. “I know.”

Silence, for a few moments, empty save the fires crackling and the distant hum of late spring bugs.

Woodie gazed into the fire for a few moments, thinking, before leaning ever so slight to the side, to press up against the stiff man in what he hoped was comfort.

Maxwell didn't shy away, and Woodie sighed, scooted a little closer to brush shoulders together, side to side and feeling the other man's thin form pressed up against his sturdier body. He stretched out one hand, laid it on Maxwells tightly folded arms, squeezed a comforting touch for a moment as he looked at the man, watched him flick up his gaze to look at each other, the dark pitch blackness of the former demon on his own hazel.

Woodie smiled, maybe not as strongly as usual but it was more of a comfort thing, both for Maxwell and for himself.

Having someone die in your arms was something he'd never wish to inflict upon someone, having been exposed to it many times.

It wasn't too bad, out here, in this odd cycle of coming back, but it was practically the same.

Nightmares visited him at times, of where it didn't work, of a young girl not coming back from a seeping wood and meat effigy or a cursed child not taking another breath after having a bloodied heart given back to their wavering form.

Or of an old friend shuddering in his arms and not waking back up with the energy of a red amulet in his veins.

What he could be grateful for was that, this time around, it wasn't a nightmare. And maybe Maxwell saw that, in his face, relief and concern and just genuinely happy that the old man was okay, maybe he saw that.

Either way, the next moment had Maxwell wrapping his arms about him and pressing his head against his shoulder, gloved hands tight in Woodies still blood stained clothing, shoulders trembling fitfully.

“Hey, it's alright, it's alright-” Woodies voice died in his throat at the whimper, small and almost whispered, at how the man was pressing up against him and holding tight, desperate, thin chest rasping against him in shaking breaths.

There was a stutter of sound, harsh and dragged out, another almost silent whimper, and Woodie wrapped his arms about the man as he felt Maxwell start to sob.

It was very quiet, slipped out and whispered against him, strained and full of bubbling emotions even a man like Woodie could hear-

“I'm sorry.” whispered the old man, choking up as he buried his face into Woodies shoulder, shaking with his near silent cries. “I'm sorry.”

Woodie could practically taste other words in the air, unspoken, and he pulled the man closer into a full hug, holding him close. He held onto him firmly, not desperately like how Maxwell was gripping onto him but maybe he conveyed the same air, how he had his arms about the thinner man, how he pressed the man against him, let him clutch at him and bury himself into just holding onto Woodie.

“I'm so sorry-” It almost felt forced, how much Maxwell was struggling to speak and sob against him, almost hysterical, a heavy thread that made Woodie curl around him protectively and feel himself choke up on emotion.

Lucy watched, silent across from the fire, leaning up against an old oak trunk, and Woodie was grateful for that.

His own voice was clogged up, thick in his throat as he held the trembling man close, felt him sob and cry and wheeze out whimpers of sound against him, struggling for breath as Maxwell tried to keep talking, tried to keep apologizing even as he clenched his teeth and choked on his own words.

“It's alright, it's alright, shhh,” Woodie cupped his palm on the back of Maxwell's neck, held him to his chest, to his shoulder, keeping him pressed to him. He held him close, rocked a bit as Maxwell sobbed even harder, fighting to not be louder as he buried his face into the crook of Woodies neck, thin hands tightly bunched in his dirtied clothing. “Shhh, everything's okay, shhh.”

Feeling the man sniffle against him, stuttering in breath just to choke on his cries, feeling the man tearing up on his shoulder and shaking terribly in his arms, Woodie lowered his head to whisper into Maxwells ear, closing his eyes as he rocked him calmly and held him as comfortingly as he possibly could.

“I already know, it's alright.” Woodie huffed a sigh, feeling the man shudder in another breath, quieting his frantic apology into just quiet, incomprehensible whimpers of sound, mixed and thick with fear and panic and heavy sadness, guilt. “I'm here, and I forgive you.”

What, exactly, Woodie was forgiving was thick in the air, but he wasn't going to stew on it. It wasn't any of his business, what Maxwell did not share openly.

What was his business, however, was comforting someone who needed a firm hug and forgiveness, especially if that someone was Maxwell of all people.

Woodie didn't even bother with the thought of prying, instead holding onto the whimpering man in a tight embrace, holding onto him with a warm, steady hug.

He wasn't the only one who needed the comfort of knowing his loved one was safe, was okay. The relief in Woodie left him teary eyed, left him breathing in slow and pressing his bearded face against Maxwells clean shaven one, trying to convey his own feelings on the matter, trying to make sure that the old fellow in his arms knew, knew he was cared for, knew that he was indeed forgiven and that Woodie was there for him, would be there for him.

He'd not let Maxwell die alone, and he hoped the man knew that.

***

“That even work?”

Maxwell frowned at the question, fiddling with the bulky radio in his hands, face heavy as he seemed to glare at the machine.

Woodie straightened up, stretching his arms above his head, feeling his joints crack with a twinge before relaxing. Remaking the tent was a hassle, but one that needed to be done. Winter was a fair ways away, but even autumn can get cold at times and, with summer long gone, the cold was encroaching steadily. Having something warm to sleep in was a priority.

Even with his tempering to the cold and snow, out here it can reach points where even he couldn't handle, especially at night. Along with the tent were the plans for cloaks and blankets, some thermal stones, and then maybe clothing if he had the supplies. Cloaks were usually good enough for him, but if Maxwell was staying with him this season then there wasn’t much of a choice in making more.

The old man barely had any meat on his bones, not to even mention weight in any form, and that wasn't a good thing when winter was keeping to its steady march.

Woodie looked over as Maxwell grumbled, wiping his hands off on his overalls as he watched the thin man shake the radio in his hands in frustration.

“Damn thing is broken, it won’t turn on!”

Woodie quirked an eye at his tone. He sure was getting angry quick.

 _Wouldn't expect it to work, not out here, oh no._ Lucy whistled to get his attention, the lumberjack glancing over at the axe as she glistened, newly sharpened, in the sun. _No frequency, no towers, no waves, no channels, and certainly no dj to run them!_

Woodie sighed, stepping over the bits of tent he hasn't quite gotten to just yet, careful to not dirty the folded silk fabric, and made his way over to Maxwell's side. The man was huffing under his breath, twisting and turning the dials, pressing the buttons randomly and tapping the speaker irritatedly, and as Woodie leaned over Maxwells shoulder to look at the thing he stomped his foot, hissing with even more frustration than usual.

“That thing really got you riled up, eh?”

Maxwell turned a sharp glare at him, pitch eyes narrowed, before he turned back to glower at the machine in his hands, hunching his shoulders and grumbling.

“I have no idea what is wrong with it, besides the fact that it _certainly_ ,” here he put heavy, irritable emphasis on the word, face curling even more with anger, “wasn't made by me, or anyone I knew for that matter.”

Woodie blinked at that bit of information, the memory of a buzzing radio stuck fast to a pole coming to mind, but he just pursed his lips and didn't mind it. Radios were never a big thing for him; Woodie had more fun fiddling around with a guitar himself, humming up tunes of his own making at times.

No guitars out here, didn't quite know how to make one himself just yet, and whistling and singing wasn't always the best, here where sound was a dead give away for when hounds were coming or a giant of some sort was tromping around.

At another frustrated noise from the other man, along with the high pitched giggling of Lucy on the other side of camp at what seemed to be childish frustration, Woodie held a hand out, mulling over Maxwells almost palpable irritation.

“Let me have a look, see if I can get it on then.”

Maxwell hesitated, hands tightening around the radio for a moment, but then he shook himself and dropped it carelessly into Woodies offered hand, turning his head up as he folded his arms with exasperation.

“It's obviously broken, so I suppose you can do what you want with it.” Maxwell huffed, that anger still threading his voice as Woodie turned the radio about in his calloused hands, the thin man side eyeing him with a narrow leer. “Doesn't matter to me.”

Woodie chuckled at that, made Maxwell stir with aggravation and a small kick into the dirt, gaze darting away, but Woodie furrowed his brow as he examined the device more thoroughly.

What was very obvious, actually, was the fact that Maxwell wasn't all that angry at just this piece of machinery. There was more to it, had to be, but Woodie wasn't going to pry.

What he was going to do, however, was figure out this little out of place music maker.

It certainly wasn't from Maxwells era, that was for sure. His confusion about it probably stemmed from its more advanced features.

Woodie tapped the plastic covering, turning to the back of it to examine the engraved writing for a moment.

Unfortunately it wasn't English, nor French for that matter, so he couldn't read any directions, but it wasn't all that complicated really.

Just flick the switch.

There was a quiet but audible click, Woodie acutely aware of Maxwell leaning over to watch his hands, the thin man brushing up against Woodies shoulder, and then a burst of static rang out from the speaker.

Maxwell squawked, a sharp surprised sound as he clapped his hands to his ears, Woodie wincing at the volume of it.

“Turn the blasted thing off!” Maxwell hissed, backing off hurriedly, and through the static Woodie could almost hear Lucy laughing. After a moment, flipping the radio back around and fiddling with the knobs, the volume fell drastically before he turned it all the way down.

The both of them let out a sigh at the same time, the evening forest absolutely silent after that loud blast of sound. In the distance, a few moments passed before bird song started up again, red birds going about their autumn business.

The distinct call of a canary echoed over, twittering and whistled, clear cut in the quiet.

Woodie laughed, rather suddenly, at the absurdity of it all.

“And what's so funny then?”

Maxwell hesitantly shuffled back over, looked at the radio in Woodies hands before leveling him with an unamused look.

Woodie might have laughed harder at that, slapping a hand on his leg before wiping the slight hints of tears from his eyes. Maxwell folded his arms, mouth a thin line, but Woodie just shook his head as he went back to the radio, chuckling under his breath.

A damn radio, out here of all places, and it somehow works too. All that had to be done was find a frequency, though that shouldn't be possible at all.

Then again, this place was full of surprises.

Fiddling with the volume, raising the static up to hear it but not bleed the ears, Woodie started to run his fingers over the other engraved words, mouthing things that he remembered from before all this.

FM and AM, right? He had no idea what the difference was, maybe it had to do with the times, and this was not in any language he knew but he could take a few guesses, it shouldn't be all that hard.

Flicking a few more switches, small and side to side, handling another dial that was not for the volume, Woodie flipped between the channels of the Constant.

Sometimes it caught something, heavily distorted by static, bouncing with pitch and sometimes even sounding just like words, but much of it was empty. Woodie noted the ones that made Maxwell flinch, turn away as his shoulders rose and gritted his jaw tensely, arms folded, and one in particular hummed with heavy twisted sound, rose the hairs on the back of his neck, made Lucy go silent as they all listened, frozen, to the sound for a split moment.

Then Woodie had dialed away from that channel, the breath leaving his chest in a heady burst, almost light headed as Maxwell stumbled to his side and leaned heavily against him, arms folded tight and head bowed as he took deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut as he shook ever so slightly. Lucy whispered nothings behind him, fast and almost hysterical, and at that point Woodie decided to call for a break from the device for awhile.

He did need to finish the tent, after all, and this time around Maxwell seemed more helpful in that venture, very obviously still thinking of other things with a wandering mind, and perhaps with a nearing headache, his hand going to his head more often than not as he squinted at the rope and fabric Woodie offered to him.

Woodie swore to himself that he'd not be visiting that channel any time soon again. Whatever they had been picking up, hearing as they had, was not for their ears. Even those few seconds had been too long, and he sure was glad that was all they had listened to.

Anymore and Woodie felt with a certainty that it would have been a very ill fate laid out for them this lifetime. He'd rather not ruin this run so early, not with Maxwell around.

The help was greatly appreciated, Woodie whistling some sort of song off the top of his head as a way to distract himself from the mulling silence, a little too keen and loud perhaps but the other man didn't seem too disturbed by it as of yet. Grin and bare it, Woodie expected, but once the tent was up fully he quieted, rolling his shoulders and putting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the green, mostly straightened up structure.

The weight of the radios speech had lifted, from him at least, and it was easy enough to file the thoughts away for now.

In this place, with these sorts of out of context rules, it was either forget or push to the side, and Woodie was not one prone to amnesia.

By then noon was drawing to a close, Woodie turning to the empty fire pit and diligently starting it up, and he noted the fact that Maxwell still seemed to be having a little trouble focusing. 

The thin man wandered over to the slowly growing fire, seating himself and rubbing his forehead distractedly as Woodie busied himself with logs and twigs. 

“You hungry?”

Maxwell sighed, holding his head in his hands for a moment as Woodie absentmindedly stuck a twig in his mouth to chew on as he encouraged the fire up some more. 

With winter coming and summer long over, the plant wasn't heat brittle, flexible under his blocky teeth, and Woodie could practically taste the sun the sapling had been eating up before he had gathered it, along with a rather absurd amount of splinters that stuck up in his gums and in between his teeth.

“Not particularly.” 

Woodie glanced over at the sitting man, gloved hands pressing to cover his eyes, leaning forward in a way that conveyed too much spider vibes for Woodie to be comfortable with.

Seeing a spider out with his own axe or spear was one thing, watching one wander from its nest, age in its very joints and furs, and then curl up to die in a ditch or shallow hole was another.

Not a particularly comforting thought to be connecting to right about now.

Perhaps what had happened with the radio was still affecting him, maybe even the both of them still, and Woodie just hadn't put too much thought into it. Or, perhaps whatever had been bothering Maxwell earlier was still at it, the frustration bleeding out into exhaustion.

Sometimes thoughts ran themselves ragged through one's head, brought aches and pain along with them, and anger was a valid response in Woodies opinion. Seems as if that bout of spoken static had cleared up that red hot knee jerking reaction to such things however.

Biting through the rest of the twig, snapping it to manageable pieces, Woodie stood up and brushed the dirt and bark from his hands, swallowing down the plant before clearing his throat, looking about the camp. It would certainly help if he could offer a distraction of some sort.

His eyes landed on the set aside radio, still heavy with what had lastly slipped from its speaker.

After debating his options for a moment, Maxwell still seemingly lost in thought and curled up, Woodie walked over and scooped the radio up, brushing nonexistent dirt and dust off of its plastic made surface. 

The machine itself had no menacing air to it; all that had been was a station of some sort, with perhaps a bit more to it than either of them should have heard.

Woodie has been here long enough as it was, and he was no fool.

But he was no quitter either. 

With Lucy quieted down and watchful as ever, not much of a guiding force but more of an observer, Woodie was on his own.

With another flick of the switch on the back, the rumble of static was back up again, quiet and empty as he adjusted a few more buttons in concentration.

It took a moment for Maxwell to say anything, and at that point the exhaustion in his voice was audible, almost exasperation at how Woodie was setting himself up with the rather finicky machine.

“Why are you messing with that again.” It wasn't even a question, Woodie glancing over to watch the old man rub his face tiredly. “We both know it wont work.”

Woodie shrugged, scratching his neck and pursing his lips nonchalantly. He didn't bother with an answer, as it was more out of getting both their minds off of shadows than in them, and even with such a little distraction it was better than nothing.

Fiddling with the dial, careful to make sure the needle didn't end up back to that one channel, Woodie started the process of passing through radio silence and static, the machine buzzing softly with distorted pitches of highs and lows at random points.

A touch on his shoulder alerted him to the other man's presence, easily holding his balance as Maxwell leaned a little heavily against him, gloved hands loosely curled in his shirt. He felt the man press his face against his shoulder, felt the little huff of breath and quiet reluctance as the man leaned forward. A smile might be forming on his face, a small one at feeling Maxwells light weight and warmth against him in such an affectionate way, but at least he was accomplishing something.

There was a buzzing, scraping sound of higher static, thick with sound, but just as he was about to switch stations once more something caught.

Heavy with distortion, but he sure as hell knew that tune, and it was a tune indeed, not some strung together notes echoing in a damnable empty chamber.

“What is…” Maxwell fell into dumbfounded silence, Woodie fiddling around a bit more as he tried to clear the interference for a moment. It didn't fully clean up, but he sure as hell could hear it now.

_I'll stop the world and melt with you~_  
_You've see the difference and it's getting better all the time~_

The 80s, Woodie mused, setting the radio down with care on one of the tree stumps scattered about his camp; each acted as a bit of helpful furniture, helped free up resources for other projects he could be doing. He couldn't for the life of him remember the name or band, but that song sure as hell was everywhere on the radio for awhile.

He remembered listening to it in the car, driving back home in the dust and heat of summer, the worries of life that plagued him easing up for once under a musical distraction-

“Is this music then?” There was an almost sneer there, in Maxwells voice as he straightened up, and perhaps in the background Woodie could hear disappointment too.

He had almost forgotten; this was long after Maxwells time, wasn't it?

_There's nothing you and I won't do~  
_I'll stop the world and melt with you~__

The thin man was thinking, eyes narrowed, folding his arms as he listened closely, very much distracted now.

Up this close Woodie could tell; the man was starting to relax under the song, even with its twisted bits of distortion.

Out here so long and he barely noticed the broken up bits; all Woodies ears cared for was hearing the familiar notes.

“I suppose as long as it's not ragtime…” 

And there it was; relief. Heavy and thick in the back of Maxwells throat, and Woodie put a steadying hand on the thin mans shoulder, feeling the hint of shivers in the bone underneath.

Perhaps he had been fearful of only hearing one tune come out of the radios speakers.

Woodie could emphasize, and quite strongly at that.

_Dream of better lives the kind which never hates~_  
_(You should see why)~_  
_Trapped in a state of imaginary grace~_  
_(You should know better)~_

Maybe it was just the tune getting to him, the absolute amount of nostalgia he was picking up, but Woodie swung around gracefully, nonchalantly slipping his arms around the now baffled old man's waist with a hint of a smile on his face. 

Maxwell, for his part, just stiffened up for a split moment before relaxing again, holding Woodies gaze with a hard, questioning look and stiff frown. With Woodie looking ever so slightly down at him, the lumberjack taking the initiative to calmly guide the both of them into rocking with the tune, Maxwell was a little slow at the uptake.

But gloved hands brushed his arms for a moment before sliding to his chest, pitch black eyes darting away into not meeting his anymore, and Maxwell's face softened ever so slight, long fingers feeling Woodies shirted chest and climbing to his shoulders.

_I made a pilgrimage to save this human race~_  
_(You should see why)~_  
_Never comprehending the race has long gone bye~_

“As a word of warning,” said Maxwell, clearing his throat for a moment and coloring with embarrassment, letting himself be coaxed into following Woodies small movements, “-I am not renowned for my dancing skills.”

Woodie had to laugh at that, the fires light flickering strongly behind them and the cooler autumn night air bringing with it a not quite yet chill breeze as static buzzed in between the songs lines, accompanied by the constant crackling of the fire. Maxwell tensed for a moment, obviously displeased with the thought that he perhaps was being teased, but Woodie shook his head and was already adjusting himself.

“You really think a hoser like me knows my steps perfectly?” Woodie huffed out another laugh at Maxwell's mixed look, the man not quite knowing how to answer to that. He slipped his hands away from the thin man, stopped their music lull of movement for a moment as he tried to remember where exactly he was to be placing himself.

Surprisingly enough, Maxwell acted first, face still blushed and mouth a thin pursed line as he stepped forward almost chest to chest, gloved hands twitching a moment before reaching out and clasping one hand with Woodies, guiding the both of them for a moment in his confidence as his other hand went to Woodies shoulder.

The placement made Woodie hesitate a moment, raising an eyebrow at being made the lead, but Maxwell turned his head away and was already muttering an answer to him.

“I don't know the song, and you obviously do.”

He didn't quite buy it, as after a moment of him taking up the rest of the position he very nearly forgotten after all this time it became increasingly obvious that neither of them knew where to place their feet. But even with his forgetfulness and the fact that he never danced formally all that often, Woodie slid into the role with almost the same nostalgic air that the song was giving him, reminding him of long passed times, from before ending up in this place.

It made him smile, a bigger, more expressive one this time that caught Maxwells attention just as he slid his arm around to just above the thin man's waist, the dancing posture pressing them together a little more intimately. He squeezed Maxwells hand with what he hoped to be comfort, raising their arms together as, for a moment, they were against each other more closely than usual, Maxwells slightly upturned face staring into his own with dark, unreadable eyes.

The lumberjack was fairly certain the both of them were as red as ripe tomatoes, had to be with the warmth in his chest, and he smiled all the more.

_I'll stop the world and melt with you~_  
_(Let's stop the world)~_  
_You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time~_  
_(Let's stop the world)~_

They certainly had no idea where to be putting their feet, though Woodie was glad that the both of them weren't clumsy enough to be stepping on toes, and after a moment with him in the lead and Maxwell breaking eye contact to look as embarrassed as ever Woodie directed them into just rocking as before, a lull of the song that even the static couldn't mar at this point.

Still pressed together, feeling Maxwells heartbeat against his own as well as the old man's rather excited breaths, quick and deep, Woodie leaned his head forward to nuzzle against the man's neck, surprising him for a moment into stilling his steps and almost tripping over.

Maybe a little forward, to be brushing almost kisses up against someone's throat, bearded face and rough chapped lips probably not the most comforting, but Maxwell very quickly seemed to come back around, pressing forward suddenly and maybe a little hasty, wanting, hands tight on Woodie as he relaxed against him, Woodie feeling the other man's thundering heartbeat against his chest.

_There's nothing you and I won't do~_  
_(Let's stop the world)~_  
_I'll stop the world and melt with you~_

_The future's open wide~_

The thin man's weight was nothing, and Woodie felt him smile against him, their clasped hands warm and firmly together, Maxwell's other hand clenched into Woodies shirt, holding tight to his shoulder. He pulled the man a little closer, hand just above Maxwells waist to help with balance as he more boldly pressed a real kiss against an exposed neck, warm skin against skin, mustache and beard brushing along with his steady lips, and he could feel Maxwell melting against him, basking in the attention for once as a small sound escaped from him.

Perhaps it was the music.

As the tune rang out in a soft hum, almost intimate in its make and heady with emotion, Woodie followed suit, rumbling sound as he kissed the old fellows neck once more, keeping him close. Knowing Maxwell had his eyes closed, feeling the man take deep breaths and hold close to him, the pressure of closeness and intimacy, feeling Maxwell reciprocate; it was the sudden final nail in Woodies mind.

As he hugged the man, feeling it be returned almost tenfold and with just as much force behind it, rocking lightly to the tune of the humming sound with slow swinging hips pressed together and Maxwell turning to press his face warmly into the crook of his neck, to press lips shyly against his own throat, Woodie found that there was certainly nothing that could be said to dissuade him anymore.

He's fallen for this man, fallen hard for the dapper gentleman.

He would've never guessed.

_I'll stop the world and melt with you~_  
_(Let's stop the world)~_  
_You've seen the difference and it's getting better all the time~_  
_(Let's stop the world)~_  
_There's nothing you and I won't do~_  
_(Let's stop the world)~_  
_I'll stop the world and melt with you~_

**Author's Note:**

> ...I still have a playlist for this ship, every time I hear one of the songs I get thrown back into thinking about them, and it's,,,,a curse at this point '*'


End file.
